


Just How Thick is Your Skin? How Sharp are Your Teeth?

by fuckinghoechlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (eventually so i wouldn't start this if you aren't into that), Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Slow Build, more characters will likely be added in the future, not too slow though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:46:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckinghoechlin/pseuds/fuckinghoechlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Songs of desperation I played them for you."</p>
<p>Or the one where Stiles tries to handle the darkness from the sacrifice alone and Derek won't let him</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. we'll laugh until our ribs get tired

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I'm working on planning this one out but I basically just started with Derek coming back and I'm gonna run from there. This sucks cause I still need a beta, but this is gonna be slow build (not too slow though, just want to be realistic), will have at least ten chapters, and may or may not be alternating POV.  
> But Derek Hale is the sunshine of my heart and this fic is gonna rocket him into the sky and away from the pit that 3a fucked him into so wahoo.  
> Hope you guys enjoy, I'll try to be quick with updates.
> 
> Work title is from "Carry Me Home" by the Killers, chapter title from "Ribs" by Lorde

“Scott, I don’t know, okay. I tried to research it, but I have no idea what kind of creature-“

“She’s a Kitsune,” and doesn’t Stiles know that jarringly quiet voice, never quite matching the dark hair on his jaw or the width of his stiff shoulders. Stiles has an idea of why his voice is so inexplicably soft, why it doesn’t match the bravado he throws in front of himself- an idea of who’s responsible for the hardening of the lines of his face- but right now the softness is making him angry, and he can’t stop himself from lashing out, biting, “Are you kidding me,” turning to face Derek with his mouth a hard line, shoulders just as square as Derek’s will be.

Except they aren’t. He can see the apology in how Derek is forcing himself to relax, hands limp by his sides and Stiles’ mouth goes slack with sudden understanding of how much it costs him to be so vulnerable.

Scott told him Derek gave up his power, sacrificed his last defense against the alphas to save Cora. Told him right after they were all out of the ruined cellar beneath the nematon, and Stiles was just a little breathless as he realized exactly who Derek was, as he fully understood Derek and all his stunted emotions and reckless urgency- and then Derek was gone, just in time for Stiles to admit that Derek was important, to accept his unnoticed investment in him, and Stiles resents him for it.

Well, he did when Derek wasn’t in front of him, rocking on his heels, trying to casually search his face for a sign of forgiveness. And Stiles remembers that Derek doesn’t owe him anything, that even though he’s a little more open, not as frustrated or impatient all the time, they still aren’t friends. Stiles knows they could be, _wants_ them to be, but he and Derek never talk when their lives don’t depend on it.

So Stiles swallows and wonders absently if Derek hears how his heart stutters as he laughs out, breath not coming just right, “Party’s over, Sourwolf’s back.”

He leans back and watches as Isaac smiles tentatively at Derek, almost like a reflex and Scott acknowledges him with a small nod, and Stiles finds it fitting because he always got the impression Scott understood Derek leaving better than any of them. Stiles wants to ask where Cora is, but he’s aware it isn’t his business- Cora didn’t owe them anything either.

And as everyone quietly welcomes Derek back- into his own loft and Stiles smiles at how they took over without permission and at how Derek didn’t even comment- they fall back into analysis and strategy, Stiles relaying what he researched and Derek refuting or elaborating on it, something new in his eyes, barely there but Stiles can’t help but feel it’s important.

Eventually, when the sky is darkening outside the windows and everyone feels slightly less helpless, the pack begins to file out, throwing parting nods and small smiles at Derek as they pass him. Stiles is slower to leave than the rest, not necessarily intending to talk to Derek but feeling as though he needs to say _something_.

He looks back at Derek, stilling when he recognizes the fond edge to the relaxedness of Derek’s expression and when did Derek become fond of him, and when did Stiles notice how the lightness of his eyes made his face more open?

Stiles again feels a tug in the back of his mind to say something, anything.

“Cora didn’t come back with you?” and for a moment Stiles regrets it because it might close Derek off, shutter his eyes and pull the lines of his face tight again. But Derek just shakes his head, face still soft and not-quite blank. “She didn’t feel right, here. Wanted to move on,” and his shoulders lift slightly, and Stiles nods slowly, accepting the answer, filing it away but not before noticing the hitch in Derek’s shrug, before hearing what Derek didn’t say, squinting at his quiet admittance of wanting to be here in this town even though nothing’s gone right for him, finally losing even the last living member of his family to it.

And then Stiles is trying to avoid examining what that means about Derek , doesn’t want to think about his sacrifice and resilience, so he just stares, still nodding slowly, trying to remember how he would usually react.

“Oh. Well, she was sorta easier to talk to than you. I’ll miss having a Hale around that can actually hold a conversation with me without making me want to kill them or them wanting to kill me.” He coughs around the burn in the back of his throat. “I’ll miss her.”

“Me too,” and Stiles wants to laugh, laugh until he’s on the floor losing his voice and laugh at everything Derek’s lost because Stiles can’t stop cataloging all of it alongside Derek’s quiet acceptance of every new blow and it _hurts_ , and because Stiles’ response to pain has always been off.

Instead he just makes an affirmative noise and swallows down his hesitance at pushing boundaries because even though it isn’t exactly okay to say certain things to Derek yet, he’s gotta start taking initiative and _making_ them okay, and it wouldn’t make sense for now to be when he decided not to test his limits. A beat. “I missed you.”

And he carefully smooths his face and loosens his shoulders, trying for nonchalance but he can feel the quiet edges of his worry at Derek’s absence pulling at his mouth and eyes and he knows Derek can see how much he means it.

Derek pauses, lips parting a little to take in a breath and the _something_ in his eyes changes and now he’s nodding, “I missed you, too,” simple and open, and Stiles sags a little further, smile tired, and Derek’s lips quirk back.

Stiles shrugs, then, “I should probably get going.”

“Yeah, I’ll let Scott know if I find anything else,” Derek’s saying as he leads Stiles to the door, and his hand is on Stiles’ shoulder when they reach the threshold. “And you,” and Stiles needs to go because he can’t blink away the memory of his hand on Derek’s shoulder and he’s too overwhelmed, breathing faltering again noticeably, so he tilts his head and his smile with a “Thanks” as he walks backward, saluting to Derek’s nod of farewell before turning and shaking out his limbs and the way Derek heard his shallow gasping, only enough focus left to put one foot in front of the other, heading to his car and his house and every shadowed thought he didn’t need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm mrspoooo0ooky on tumblr if you want to talk to me or follow me idk but thanks for reading y'all
> 
> i'll likely eventually make a fanmix for this


	2. Hold you under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this update took so long, i'm just really picky about wording and i still kind of hate how this turned out, things will really progress between stiles and derek in the next chapter and the one after, thanks to everyone who's subscribed and is still reading!

He can’t keep running. He’s himself and he’s human with no sleep and a shadowed heart weighing down each jerking move forward and away, and over the roaring in his ears and his own wheezing he can hear frenzied growls snaking through the undergrowth, pressing the darkness in and in and _in_.

As Stiles whips his head around out of reflex something snags his arm and he tries to yank back, shake his arm free because he needs to _go_. His skin alights with the sensation of teeth sinking into him, ripping him open and exposing the black in his veins and his mouth opens and closes in silent horror when Stiles notices the limb constricting his arm is now shaking him, making him flail wildly and he starts to scream, a bloody sound ripped from him by a vicious snapping of the jaws in his side and there’s so much black squeezing his head and he’s _dying_.

His breath has stopped and he feels like negative space, he’s not there despite the ache in his veins but the cold leeching through his bones isn’t reaching the spot where the branch is clinging, somehow almost desperate, and Stiles’ eyes roll back as teeth sink into his throat-

But he’s breathing, he’s crashing back into his limbs and there’s not enough air. As he heaves he takes in the bulky shadows of the furniture in his room, the moon on half his face and darkening the figure next to him digging into his arms and rattling him further into awareness.

He begins struggling again, jerking back and gasping, panic thrashing in his lungs and bleeding into numbness beneath the skin stretching tighter over his bones, but whoever it is doesn’t let go and then there’s a face inches from his, his name is quiet in the dark and Stiles stills apart from the trembling in his arms.

Derek says his name again and Stiles exhales loudly, a huff to clear the tension in his throat. He’s buzzing still, thrumming with the fading terror from his dream and the same nagging sensation of missing words he needs to say and _why is Derek here_. Derek’s going to hear his heart, he’ll know and something in Stiles is screaming at him not to involve anyone else, reminding him that this is his responsibility only, he earned his shadows, deserves them. The irritation is fake, shaking, “Really? Sneaking in through my window? I thought that was only the behavior of fugitive Derek but here we are,” he can still hear his heart in his ears and _Derek can’t know_. “What are you even doing here?” He winces at how the words stick coming out and squirms as Derek looks into his face, and he notices the _something_ is back in Derek’s searching eyes.

“It can wait. What was that?” The lack of demand in the question is odd, reminds Stiles that this relationship isn’t just necessity anymore, it’s evolving without announcing itself, startling him in unconscious, telling gestures and endless patterns and now he’s here, heartbeat too hard and too fast, lead in his arms and crackling in his fingertips with all his unwanted surprise.

Stiles debates not telling Derek. He wouldn’t lie, of course- there’d be no point, and really, he doesn’t _want_ to lie to Derek, but he also needs to hide, to protect everyone else from himself.

He can’t stop watching Derek’s eyes, the way their gaze is something tangible, curling around Stiles like an assurance, _he has the moon in his eyes_ and Stiles can’t stop blinking.

“It was a nightmare. I get nightmares now, ever since we sacrificed ourselves, but I’m fine.” He’s looking at his hands, at where Derek’s hands twitch at his sides as he notices the uptick and Stiles raises his face in defiance of Derek’s insistence.

“Since what?” and Stiles wants to laugh because of course no one told Derek and of course it’s down to him. Instead he sighs quietly, tries to look back at Derek and his eyes flick between him and the wall.

“Well, when we lost Jennifer we didn’t know how to find them, so Deaton had us get into ice baths- like the one we put Isaac in- to slow our hearts enough to make it seem like we died. To make us the sacrifices instead,” and Stiles can’t stand how the words are stilted, sticking in his throat as he ignores how little sense it makes, especially when he says it out loud. “When we ‘died,’ we were shown where the nematon was- turns out we’d all been there before- but.” His breathing wavers, becomes something numb and solid in his lungs like it always does whenever he remembers what he’s done and he can tell Derek notices, sees a hand rising to his shoulder out of the corner of his eye and with a shock he again realizes how tactile Derek is.

He feels a weird shame in not having noticed before.

"But?"

“But, Deaton told us the sacrifice, it, it would leave a kind of darkness on our hearts, shadows that’ll never go away.” He remembers what Scott said that night and his laugh is somehow self-deprecating, “Scott’s tattoo has a whole new depth to it, by the way.”

And the sad upward quirk of Derek’s mouth shifts something, something Stiles can’t swallow down and he’s blinking a lot again, like it could still the galloping in his chest.

Derek shifts a little where he’s sitting before saying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t remember and that now you have to live like this. Like me.” And Stiles aches at the way Derek won’t look at him now, how he doesn’t understand none of what’s happened is actually on him, and Stiles has no idea how to fix it, doesn’t know where to begin and if Derek would even want him to ask.

There’s a blip in his heartbeat, “Hey, hey I’m fine. Sleep’s a little hard some nights, but I’m okay. We all are.” Derek catches his smile, something small and cracked, a smudge in the dark that doesn’t really do anything to light it but he takes it anyway, swallows and bobs his head and Stiles can see him willing himself not to push.

“Alright, well, do you- I guess I’ll just go now? Let you try to sleep?” He starts to stand, moving his hands in aborted gestures and Stiles wants to reach out and still them, to quiet Derek and the thoughts that are now alive, writhing shadows somehow burning as they grow taller still around him.

Stiles wants to keep him here and he isn’t sure why, “Wait, what did you come here for?” and Derek’s shaking his head again as he shoves the window open, telling him it can wait and then slipping away. Stiles tries not to think about the jaggedness of Derek’s mouth as he shoves himself into sleep.

His dreams are quiet.

-

The creak of the window wakes him in the grey light of the morning. The air in his room is cold, and he ignores the way it settles into his skin and turns on his side, tracing the absent shadows on his wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still kind of looking for a beta, tumblr is mrspoooo0ooky still, and chapter title is from "The Funeral" by Band of Horses, and the lyric in the summary is from "The Run and Go" by Twenty One Pilots
> 
> thanks again, y'all!


End file.
